


here i am, again

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hprarefest, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-13 05:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11177844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: Five years after the war, Draco returns to England to work for Severus Snape. He expects an interesting job opportunity, but what he gets is a new nightshirt and a rekindled childhood crush.Or, Draco’s lack of impulse control leads to something good for a change.





	here i am, again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gracerene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracerene/gifts).



> Written for the [2017 HP Rare Fest](http://hprarefest.livejournal.com), and inspired by [this lovely prompt](http://hprarefest.livejournal.com/94818.html?thread=1475682#t1475682) left by gracerene. Enjoy! 

Draco’s hands brush over the Prophet, creating soft rustling sounds as he stares at the paper.

There’s a small box in the corner of the page, simple in its format compared to those around it. The advertisement section of the Prophet is always packed tight; full of flashing images and bright colours meant to draw attention. Yet it’s the plainness of this ad that catches Draco’s eye.

There isn’t anything special about it, not really. It’s asking for a lab assistant, the required skill set listed within the box. That isn’t why he’s staring. It’s the contact information on the bottom corner, the name written in simple block letters; so familiar and yet oddly foreign.

It’s been years since Draco had last seen Severus Snape. The man, not unlike himself, had disappeared not long after the war. Draco had been too preoccupied with his own plans to pay much attention to what others were doing, but he had heard things. Whispers of information. To his knowledge, Severus had buried himself in his research; only appearing in public when forced to.

Draco grins. The advertisement doesn’t offer information on the nature of the work, but if the man is actively seeking assistance, he knows it has to be good.

Eyes lingering a moment longer, Draco stands.

He’s made his decision.

*

It’s raining when he returns to England. Typical, really, and Draco finds he doesn’t mind. Even after months upon months spent in the sunny streets of Europe’s finest cities, England still holds his heart.

He hadn’t sent much of a warning, but the Manor’s prepared for his return and his parents greet him warmly all the same. He spends the first few days readjusting; falling into old routines and talking to his mother over tea. Narcissa gives him a knowing look when he mentions his plans, her eyes twinkling like she knows something Draco doesn’t. Draco tries to pry, but she doesn’t tell him anything, just offers her support.

*

He doesn’t want to wait too long, doesn’t want someone else to get the job before he does, so he sets out to visit Severus a few days following his return.

Spinner’s End looks the same as it had six years ago; dreary and banal, filled with the sound of children playing in the distance. Draco can’t honestly say he enjoys the area, but he is happy to be back. Excited for what it means.

He finds Severus’ home easily, knocks twice on the door and waits for an answer. He’s surprised to feel nervous, the adrenaline laced anxiety spreading through his body. It’s been a long time since he’d experienced it. He doesn’t think Severus will be annoyed to see him, but he can’t be sure.

His hands fiddle with his outer robe as he waits, listening to the footsteps on the other side. He smiles slightly when the door finally opens, watches carefully as Severus looks at him for the first time in five years. He catches a hint of surprise, but it’s replaced by indifference before he can dwell.

“Draco,” Severus says, and he sounds just as he always had. His voice just as soothing as it had been those last few years of the war; something comforting. Something Draco could trust, or so he had thought. “Come in.”

He opens the door wider, and Draco slips past him, murmuring his thanks. Severus’ home is nothing like the Manor; there are no excess rooms, no items on show for no other purpose than to express the extent of their wealth. The door leads right to the sitting room, and Draco looks around; compares it to his last visit.

It’s mostly the same, just as the outside had been, only now dust doesn’t cover everything. He remembers those first few days - after they’d fled, the death of Dumbledore still fresh in both their minds. Remembers how the house had felt neglected. Abandoned.

Now, it at least looks lived in.

He listens to the door shut, turns to see Severus watching him.

“What are you doing here?” Snape asks, eyeing him from across the room.

Draco lifts a shoulder in a light shrug. “You had an ad in the paper.”

“It said to owl.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But this is better, isn’t it? Saves time.”

Severus quirks his brow, steps closer. “It also said I need someone of great skill. To my knowledge, you never completed your NEWTs.”

“I didn’t, no,” Draco admits. They’d been given the chance, after the war. But by the time his trial had ended, by the time he’d been able to return home, it had been days away from the new term. The stress of it – getting everything in order whilst helping his mother settle his father’s affairs, the stigma of being an ex-death eater, the knowledge that no one would have wanted him there, anyway – it hadn’t been what he’d wanted to do. “But I haven’t been idle these few past years,” he says, lips tilting to a hint of a smirk. “And you _were_ the one to teach me first.”

He puts an emphasis on the last part. A stroke of the ego, a reminder of talent… It wouldn’t hurt him.

Severus sighs quietly, points in the direction of the chair. “Sit,” he says, and Draco complies. “Tea?”

Draco knows it’s asked only out of habit rather than any real desire, so he shrugs again. “Only if you want it.”

“No, then,” Severus murmurs. He takes a seat across from Draco, the two of them separated by a low table littered with notes and a stray mug. “It’s been a long time.”

“I know,” Draco answers, his palm running down the length of his thigh; smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles of his trousers. “It’s good to see you.”

He means that, too. He’d regretted falling out of touch with Severus, had even found himself missing the other man at times.

“You look healthy,” Severus comments, and Draco can feel the heat of his gaze. It’s not a comment that’s out of place. The last time they’d seen each other had been the trial, and Draco hadn’t looked his best. Azkaban, the aftermath of war, the stress of everything... it had done him no favours.

“A secluded cottage in the south of France and an endless supply of food,” Draco says by way of explanation, smiling at the memories. He’d had concerns at first, about being on his own, about leaving his mother. But Lucius had eventually been allowed to come home, and Draco had learnt to love the solace of solitary.

“You’d give that up to work for me?”

“Actually, I gave that up after a year,” Draco tells him. “I grew comfortable and got bored. So I went to Spain, then Italy. Then Croatia, Austria, Greece.”

“And somehow you found the time to train.”

It’s not a question, but Draco can hear the doubt. He smiles, says, “I told you, I got bored.” He shifts in his seat, fingers itching to reach forward and grab the open book resting on the table, its unrecognisable script as intriguing as every other book he’d seen lying around Spinner’s End. “A friend worked in the field. He introduced me to a woman seeking an apprentice and I spent six months freezing my arse off in Siberia while she worked me half to death.”

He recalls it fondly. The woman – Mila – had reminded him of his mother; her personality traced with traits he’d seen in both Narcissa and, occasionally, McGonagall. There had been times – when they’d not left the lab in days, their potion too delicate to abandon for any period of time, her presence the epitome of calm control – where she’d reminded him of Severus, too.

Severus leans against the back of his chair, keeps his eyes on Draco. “I’ve spent the past two years looking into Wolfsbane and exploring its possibilities,” he says. “What we’d be doing is not only entirely experimental, but potentially dangerous, too.”

“Are you trying to scare me off?”

“I want you to know what you’re getting into,” Severus tells him. “Long hours with no breaks, late nights. You’ll have to stay here, at times. A lot of these experiments are delicate. Composed incorrectly and they have potential for disaster.”

“What’s your goal?”

“A cure,” Severus tells him.

Draco blinks, surprised. “For lycanthropy?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I knew it had to be good,” Draco murmurs, the comment said mostly to himself. “You wouldn’t put your name in the Prophet otherwise. Too much attention.”

Severus ignores him, says, “There’s no definite end and no promise of success.”

“When do I start?”

Severus’ lips twitch, a hint of a smile. “Not that easy,” he says, standing from his seat. “I want to test you in the lab first.”

“Now?”

“No time like the present,” Severus drawls, sarcastic. “That is, if you’re up for it.”

Draco stands now, too, biting back a grin. “Lead the way.”

*

“So?” Draco asks three hours later, looking to Severus as he inspects the potion he’d watched Draco make. The lab – or rather, the reformed basement of Severus’ home – is a mess around him, but he thinks he did okay.

“Adequate,” is all Severus says, using a ladle to pour the potion into a spare vial. “Organisation needs to be better.”

“High praise, coming from you,” Draco murmurs. He feels more than a little proud. “You’ll let me work with you?”

Severus sighs, corks the bottle. “Come back tomorrow,” he says. “One more test. This time with something related to the work. One I’ve already tried.”

“And if I pass that?”

“Then you’ll be employed.”

Draco fights his answering smile, fingers tapping against the bench top excitedly. “You won’t regret it.”

“I’m sure I will.”

*

“You know, I didn’t think a cure was possible,” Draco voices the next day, following Severus into the lab. He’d arrived only moments before; early, to Severus’ surprise. “I thought Wolfsbane was as good as it was going to get.”

Severus hums, pulls down a leather bound notebook from the shelf and places it on the bench. “It may not be,” he says, flipping the journal open to reveal handwritten notes. “But there are ways to improve it. Strengthen it.”

“That’s what these are?”

Severus nods. “I’ve created multiple modifications to the original. Some have worked, others have not. The next few to test are more advanced, which is why you’re here.”

Draco flips through the notebook, scans pages upon pages of research and experiments. “Why do I feel like you waited until the last possible moment before asking for help?”

Severus tilts his head in acknowledgment. “If successful, this can be ground-breaking,” he says. “I’d rather not share the recognition.”

“Especially because you’ve done most of the work,” Draco finishes, tearing his gaze from the book back to Severus. “I promise, if we manage this, I’ll only take sixty-percent of the credit. Seventy, tops.”

Draco tries not to laugh at the answering look, Severus’ thoughts on that idea written plainly across his face. He holds up his hands in surrender, looks back to the book.

“What one am I doing?”

Severus takes it, flips it to the correct page. “This is the start of it,” he says, thumb brushing over a title written in his distinct scrawl. He flips the page twice, lands on a mostly empty sheet. “This is the end.” He lets the journal fall back to the start and looks back to Draco. “You’ll make it on your own, with me watching. If you have a question, ask it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Draco answers, pausing for a second at the term.

“We’re not in school,” Severus says. “You can call me by my name.”

Draco smiles, scans the list of ingredients. “Old habit.”

He turns to the shelves and grabs what he needs, pausing every few moments to check he’s got the correct things. Severus watches him set up, dark eyes calculating. It reminds Draco of being back at Hogwarts, of the other man standing over his shoulder and offering both critique and compliment as he worked.

“Line them in the order you’ll need them,” Severus says when Draco starts setting out vials of ingredients. “It’ll lessen the mess and make it easier.”

Draco nods and does as he’s told. Time passes in a relaxed silence, broken only when Draco needs to ask a question, or when Severus corrects his technique. It’s surprisingly easy to work alongside Severus, to follow his guidance. The other man isn’t as critical as Draco had thought he would be, and he can’t help but feel proud of himself. He knows he’s talented in the art – always has been, even before Hogwarts; when he’d helped Lucius in the Manor’s lab – but to be able to keep up with Severus… it’s an accomplishment in itself.

The potion is a long one, and it takes half the day for Draco to finish it, but the impressed look on Severus’ face makes it worthwhile. He waits for Severus to speak, resisting the urge to shift his weight from foot to foot.

“Are you prepared to start tomorrow?” Severus asks eventually, and Draco grins.

*

They fall into a routine after that, working Monday to Friday.

They spend more time together than they do apart. It’s easier, Draco thinks, because they know each other. Because they have a history together. He can’t imagine working like that with anyone else, can’t imagine wanting to.

Still, he always floos home at the end of the day.

*

Draco sighs, raises a hand to run through his hair. He feels exhausted, his body aching for a shower and a warm bed. They’d spent all day on a particular variant, starting in the morning and working well into the night, and their only result is a ruined cauldron and singed robe. Draco had known it was a possibility, but to spend that much time on something and have it all be for nothing… He sighs again.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” Severus says, pouring himself a drink. He raises the bottle to Draco, silently asking if he wants any, but Draco shakes his head. Falls into a kitchen chair instead.

“You don’t seem upset.”

Severus hums, takes a gulp of the whiskey. “I have years of experience with failed research,” he says. “This isn’t new.”

“Still shitty,” Draco grumbles. He rests his elbow on the kitchen table, places his chin in the palm of his hand, and watches Severus finish his drink. “What time tomorrow?”

“Eight or nine,” he says.

“It’s almost three now,” Draco points out. “Little point in going home if I have to come back in five hours.”

“So stay,” Severus tells him, adding another finger of whiskey to his glass. “Take your old room.”

Severus says it like it’s no big deal, _your old room_ being where he’d stayed following Dumbledore’s death. When he thinks about it, Draco can remember every detail of it; can remember how he’d woken up thrashing almost every night, his sheets soaked through with sweat. Can remember how he’d tried to keep it to himself. How he’d eventually given in and allowed Severus to help.

He pushes the memories away, thinks it’s better not to dwell on them. “Can I use your shower?”

Severus waves his hand, a sort of _do whatever you want_ gesture. He looks too tired to talk, his movements languid as he puts the bottle of whiskey away. “Just don’t make a lot of noise,” he says. “I’m going to sleep.”

Draco smiles. “You won’t even hear me,” he promises, standing from his seat before offering a quiet parting and walking from the room.

*

The bathroom is placed across the hall from Severus’ bedroom, the shower wall adjoined to the guest’s. Draco’s movements are careful as he enters, quiet even with Severus still downstairs. He turns the water on, waits until it’s a suitable heat before undressing. He has no clothes here, nothing to change into, so he folds his robes carefully and makes sure the sink’s side is dry before letting them rest there.

As he steps under the spray of the water, he has a flashback to the last time he was here. To when he’d looked around the room and immediately thought of ways to improve it – styling techniques, better ways to utilise the space. He’d mentioned them to Severus once over breakfast, when the silence had got too much to bare. The other man had merely scoffed, had told him it was there to be practical, not to show off.

And as warm water runs across his back, washing away beads of soap, he gets flashes of another memory. Of when he’d stood in this very shower, forehead pressed against cold tile, throbbing erection brushing against his stomach. He hadn’t been able to stop the thoughts, then. Had used images of Severus’ body and the memory of his voice to get himself off. He’d hated himself afterwards, after he’d had time to think about it, but when it had happened...

Draco shakes his head, reaches a hand out to shut the hot water off. He can’t do it again, not now. He focuses on other things, let’s the cold water wash away any interest the memories had stirred, and steps out of the shower. Drying himself quickly, he wraps a towel around his waist, robes and wand held in one hand as he exits the bathroom.

Severus’ bedroom door is already shut, no sign of light filtering out from beneath the wood, so Draco assumes he’s gone to bed. He treads carefully, uses a Lumos charm to light his way.

He doesn’t expect anything, but when he makes it to the guest bed, there’s a shirt laid out atop the covers. It’s clean, folded. Obviously Severus’, put there for him to wear. There’s nothing else, no pants – and Draco understands way. Severus’ shirts may fit him, but their waistlines are too different for his pants to. He can’t help but smile.

He dumps his robes on the bed, pulls his underwear on and reaches for the shirt. It reaches his mid-thigh, the white fabric soft to touch. It’s something that had always surprised him – that despite how rough Severus could come across, his clothes were always blissfully soft.

He presses his nose to the collar, breathes in the familiar scent as he buttons the shirt. He keeps most of them unbuttoned, a comfortable type of loose, and moves his items out of the way before crawling under the duvet.

Despite his worries, he sleeps just fine.

*

Draco wakes early the next morning, despite how tired he feels. He blindly searches the bed for his wand, yawning loudly as his fingers wrap around it. He murmurs the spell, discovers that it’s just past seven, and groans as he presses his face back into the pillow.

Severus is most likely already awake and out of bed – something that Draco would never quite understand. For as long as he’d known him, he’d never witnessed the other man have anything remotely resembling a lie in.

With great difficulty, he drags himself out from under the covers. Still half asleep, he doesn’t bother to put his robes on, just makes his way to the kitchen dressed in Severus’ shirt, his arms crossed against his chest to maintain some kind of warmth.

He finds Severus in the kitchen, a mug held to his lips and the paper in front of him. “‘Morning,” he mumbles, falling into his usual chair. He brushes his hand through his hair, pushes it away from his face.

“Good morning,” Severus responds, a hint of bemusement in his tone. He stands, rooting around the counter for a moment before placing a cup of tea in front of Draco.

Draco hums his appreciation, grabs the mug with both hands and takes a sip. “You should get an elf,” he says, watching Severus take his seat again.

“Some people learn to do things for themselves,” is Severus’ retort. He slides the paper across the table, towards Draco, and takes a sip of his own drink. “Hard to grasp, I know.”

Had it been anyone else, Draco would have been annoyed. But Severus’ words are more of a joke than anything else, and he knows it. Years ago, he’d come to appreciate the man’s dry humour.

“Funny,” he deadpans, flipping the Prophet back to its front page. “Do you have food?”

“Check the cupboards,” Severus says. “Should I trust you not to burn my house down?”

Draco smiles slightly, looks at him from across the table. “I took cooking lessons in Italy, you know,” he says. “It’s easy if you think of it in terms of potions.”

Severus hums but doesn’t comment further, so Draco turns back to the paper. There’s nothing interesting in the headlines – another argument on taxes, something about the next election – and Draco has no interest in the other sections. Not now, anyway.

He gets up, moves to where he knows Severus keeps the bread. Standing in full view of the other man, he feels a little awkward wearing so little. Severus isn’t in his usual robes, but he is wearing both pants and a shirt, so Draco looks more than slightly underdressed.

On the other hand, he can feel Severus watching him, and part of him – the part that had wanted to stay in the shower, to let himself fall back into old fantasies – enjoys it too much to care.

“What are we doing today?” he asks, looking over his shoulder as he pulls out slices of bread.

“Same thing as yesterday,” Severus tells him. “Only now we try harder not to fail.”

“Wonderful,” Draco exhales, and then goes about making breakfast.

*

After that, Draco stays over more often.

When they finish later than expected, or when he’s too tired to bother going home, Severus lets him have the spare room. It means they spend even more time together, means they get to talk about things outside of their research more. Means Draco gets to spend time with him as a friend rather than a colleague.

As much as Draco loves working in the lab, Severus remains mostly professional there. Rarely does he speak of anything other than what they’re working on. But outside of it – when they’re preparing dinner, when Draco’s scanning the book covered walls of his sitting room, hundreds of questions on the tip of his tongue – Severus will open up. Will allow Draco to see the personality he’d long since grown fond of.

It brings back more memories, makes his long-buried childhood crush come rushing back to the surface. He’d tried hard to keep his feelings a secret back then – and he thinks he’d managed it, for the most part – but now it feels like a lost cause.

Draco thinks it’s their proximity. The amount of time they spend in only each other’s company. The small work room, the brush of Severus’ hand against his as they pass things to each other – it makes it hard for him to focus on much else.

It doesn’t help they they’re practically living together. He’d been reluctant to call it that, but it’s hard to deny.  He’s even started leaving clothes at Spinner’s End – things for him to change into; working robes, a few sets of nicer muggle clothes, for when he and Severus decide to leave the house for dinner.

He keeps the other man’s shirt, too. Wears it almost every night.

He’d accidentally taken it back to the Manor, once. Narcissa had laughed when she’d seen it, the same knowing look in her eye, and Draco had gone to bed before she’d had the opportunity to voice the thoughts he knows she has.

She’d been well aware of his crush, despite his vehement denial. And although Draco knows her jabs are teasing, he still doesn’t want to discuss it.

Still doesn’t want to face the truth.

*

“What should we do for dinner?”

They’re in the lab, have been for hours. The potion they’re testing is a fragile one, where one wrong move can make the whole thing turn to shit. Severus has to stand over the potion, stirring with steady, calculated movements to make sure it remains stable. Draco, sat in the corner of the room, had been time keeper; eyes trained to a pocket watch, familiar voice calling out every time he needed to switch the stirs from clockwise to anticlockwise and vice versa.

But the last switch required had been fifteen minutes ago, and when there’s no response to his question, Severus turns to see what Draco’s doing now. He looks up to find him lying across the lab chair, body curled in on itself, chin to chest and snorting softly. It’s a position Severus has been in many times before, the cushioned chair put there for that very reason.

It’s a position Draco’s been in before, too. Once. Severus remembers it; how Draco had nodded off waiting for him to finish brewing his Dreamless Sleep. He’d looked so small then. Too thin and too pale, fragile enough to break at the slightest of touches.

He looks nothing like that now.

Severus sneaks glances as he finishes the last batch of stirs, unable to not. Draco had always been undeniably beautiful, but now, healthy and happy, he’s even more so. He’s no longer the scared boy or the unsure student. No longer Severus’ subordinate but something much closer to his equal.

He has a gap between the next steps of the potion, so he lets it simmer for a moment. Walks toward Draco and pulls an old, woollen blanket out from behind the chair.  He lays it over Draco’s body, tucks it around him gently, the back of his hand brushing the younger man’s cheek for a moment before falling away. They’ve been working nonstop for days, and he can’t blame him for falling asleep.

He lingers for a moment, enjoying how peaceful Draco looks. Eventually he turns back, finishing the potion off himself.

After, once the lab is clean and the potion is put away, Severus goes back to Draco. He wakes him gently, answers Draco’s mumbled, sleepy questions with smiles the other man won’t remember.

“Up,” he says, letting Draco lean on him.

Draco buries his face against his side, eyes shutting. He makes Severus all but carry him upstairs, not bothering to look where they’re going. Severus walks him to the spare room, figuring it’s best to just let him sleep.

“Did we get it?” Draco asks him, voice a nearly unintelligible mumble. He’s crawling under the covers, kicking off his shoes before letting Severus wrap the blanket around him again.

Severus answers with an affirming hum, watching Draco press his face into the pillow.

He’s asleep before Severus leaves the room.

*

Later, when the sky has long since turned black, when Severus is sat in front of his fireplace, book open in his lap and glass of whiskey at his side, Draco comes back downstairs.

It’s obvious he’s been sleeping. His hair is a mess atop his head, his clothes rumpled. Not that he’d say it, but Severus almost thinks he looks cute.

“There’s food in the kitchen,” he says, when Draco enters the sitting room.

Draco hums. “Later,” he says around a yawn, falling into the chair next to Severus. He lets his head drop to the man’s shoulder without thinking, face nuzzling against his robe. When he realises what he’s done, he feels like he has to move away. But Severus doesn’t react to it, so Draco stays. Tests his luck. “What are you reading?”

“Chekhov,” Severus answers, closing the book around his finger to show the cover page; the name _Ivanov_ written in plain block letters. “Muggle playwright,” he explains.

“Didn’t expect that from you.”

Severus lets the play shut and chucks it on the table, turns his complete attention to the conversation. He’s read it before, anyway. “What did you expect?”

“‘Dunno,” Draco mumbles. “Not fiction.”

“I don’t work every second of the day, Draco.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Draco says, shifting in his seat. “How’d the potion go? I think I asked before but I don’t remember.”

Severus allows himself a small smile. “Came out perfect,” he says, reaching for his glass of whiskey. He takes a sip, offers it to Draco. “We’ll start the next step soon.”

Draco takes the offered glass, scrunches his face up at the taste. There’s a reason he prefers wine to whiskey. “We’re making good progress,” Draco points out, and Severus voices his agreement, starts to talk about what their next move is.

Later, when Draco’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, hand reaching out to trail over book spines, the names Dickens and Doyle and Dostoyevsky flickering in the light, Severus asks, “Why were you so insistent?”

Draco turns at the sound, blinks up at him. “Hm?”

“About the job,” Severus clarifies. “Why’d you want it?”

Draco shrugs lightly. “It was a good opportunity,” he says. “I know I don’t have to work if I don’t want to, but… I don’t know. I like it.”

He turns back to the books after he says it, and Severus hums, takes the opportunity to stare blatantly.  
It doesn’t sound like a lie, but it doesn’t sound like the whole truth, either.

*

It all comes to a head a few weeks later.

They’ve made something of a breakthrough in their research – a positive result to the test they’ve been running for fourteen days straight. Draco doesn’t know if it’s the excitement that makes him do it, or if it’s because he’s been at Severus’ side for so long – if it’s the tension of hours of lingering touches and Severus’ body pressed behind his; of a deep voice in his ear and warm breath on his neck – but when Severus turns to him, a look of pride on his face, Draco can’t help but lean up and kiss him.

It only lasts for a moment. He pulls back before it can lead to anything more, wide eyed, mouth parted. His hands stay planted on either one of Severus’ shoulders, his body still with the shock of what he’d done.

There’s a string of apologies on the tip of his tongue, a pale blush heating his cheeks. But he barely gets an _I_ out before Severus’ mouth is on his again. He gasps, the sound swallowed with the kiss, his fingers clutching the fabric of Severus’ robe.

Severus presses him against the bench, the edge of it digging into the small of Draco’s back, but Draco doesn’t notice the pain. Just the feel of Severus’ mouth, the taste of his tongue.

When they pull apart, their heavy breathing filling the room, Draco can’t stop his breathy laugh. “If I’d known success would lead to this,” he starts, arms winding their way around Severus’ neck. “I’d have worked harder.”

Severus sighs, leans forward to kiss him again. “Brat,” he murmurs. He pulls away slightly, looks to the simmering cauldron. “We have to bottle this,” he says, regretful. “And clean up.”

Draco looks to the mess, bottom lip sticking out in a slight pout. He’d much rather continue kissing.

“Bet you wish you had an elf now, huh?” he says, smiling when Severus glares.

*

It’s worth the wait. It could have happened six months from now and Draco still thinks it would be worth the wait.

When the lab’s clean – or rather, clean enough – Severus leads him up the stairs, to the bedroom. It’s already night-time, already dark. Draco’s exhausted but Severus’ touch gives him energy, makes his body feel like it’s on fire.

Severus waves his hand when they enter his room, lights up their surroundings. Draco watches as candles flicker to life, stands near the door and takes a moment to simply look at the bed.

“What?” Severus asks, when he doesn’t move.

“Nothing, just...” He has to look away, feels almost shy when he says, “This is like every old fantasy come to life.”

Severus looks at him, raises his brow. “Old?”

Draco walks to him, wraps his arms around Severus’ waist. He kisses his way up Severus’ jaw, nips the skin gently. “After my sixth year, when we were staying here,” he starts, voice low. “If I wasn’t having nightmares, I was dreaming of you fucking me into that mattress.”

When Draco looks, Severus seems surprised.

“Better late than never,” he says, bringing a hand to Draco’s collar. He lets a thumb dip beneath the fabric, the pad of his finger brushing skin. “Don’t you think?”

A slow grin breaks out across Draco’s face. He nods, leans up to kiss Severus and lets him lead him to the bed.

They’re in no rush, but Draco’s never been a patient man. He fumbles with his clothes, tries to get them off as quick as he can. Severus grabs his hands, slows him down. Gently removes each item of clothing and pushes him down on the bed.

Draco’s already half hard, his cock more interested with every passing second. He watches Severus undress, licks his lips at the lean torso, the strong arms. He still remembers the first time it had hit him that Severus wasn’t just magically strong, but physically strong, too. It’d been a large section of his jerk off material for years.

Severus kisses his way across his skin, bites down on pale flesh and leaves marks that could be bruises come morning. Draco doesn’t care, thinks he might even like the reminder.

He sighs softly when a hand wraps around his erection, rubbing slowly. “What do you want?” Severus asks, looking down at him between strands of dark hair, his body above Draco’s.

“Fuck me,” Draco breathes, voice hitching when Severus draws a finger across his cock’s slit. “Please. Please, Severus. I’ve wanted— for so long—”

Severus cuts him off with a kiss, removes his hand from Draco’s body to summon a vial of oil. Draco spreads his legs when he sees it, eager for Severus to be inside of him, and Severus chuckles lightly.

“Calm down,” he says, kissing the spot beneath Draco’s ear. “We have time.”

“Don’t care,” Draco says. He hasn’t fucked anyone since he’d returned to England, hasn’t so much as kissed someone. Even when he’d had the opportunity, he’d turned it down. It’d felt like he was betraying Severus, which was entirely ridiculous and he knew it, but he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling. “I want you _now_.”

“Are you always this impatient?” Severus asks, amused. Still, he moves his hands to Draco’s arse, kneads the flesh with skilled movements.

“Yes.”

Severus laughs again, reaches for the vial and uncorks it. He dips one finger in, coats it down to the second knuckle, and traces his hand down the cleft of Draco’s arse, finger probing gently. “Beg,” he says, eyes glinting.

Had it been anyone else, Draco probably would have told them to fuck off. But, because it’s Severus, because he’s wanted this for long, Draco doesn’t hesitate. He lets out a string of begs, an incoherent mumble of _pleasepleaseplease, Sev, please_ , his body rocking into Severus’ hand.

He’s rewarded eventually. Severus slips his first finger in, moving it in and out of Draco gently. He pours more oil across his fingers, adds a second and opens Draco up almost torturously slowly; taking great delight in every whimper, every moan that leaves Draco’s mouth.

By the time he has a third in, fingers rubbing Draco’s prostate lightly, Draco is near trembling. He’s rocking with Severus’ movements, fingers clutching at the bed sheets. “If you want me to last for more than thirty seconds,” he grits out. “I suggest you get on with it.”

Severus hums, reaches to kiss him slowly as he slides his fingers out. He pours oil over his palm, runs his hand over the length of his cock and shifts his body forward. Fingers now clutching at Draco’s hips, he lets the tip of his erection brush again Draco’s entrance.

“Is this really what you want?” Severus asks, lips moving against the skin of Draco’s jaw. He’s teasing more than he’s asking for actual consent, but it’s still good to hear Draco’s reaffirming groan.

“Don’t play,” Draco says, impatient, and Severus grins.

He tightens his hold on Draco’s hips, presses the blunt tip of his erection inside Draco slowly. Draco lets out a low moan at the new pressure, lifts his hips up to try and get more of Severus inside of him. He wraps his legs around Severus’ waist, links his feet together at the small of Severus’ back and uses them to urge him on.

“Come on,” he breathes, hands moving to clutch at Severus’ arms instead of the sheets. “We can go slow later, just. _Please_.”

Severus huffs quietly but presses all the way in, swallowing Draco’s moan with a kiss and allowing him a moment to adjust. It’s not that he enjoys going slow, it’s just that he likes the desperate look on Draco’s face. Likes the way his voice sounds when he begs.

When Draco’s body relaxes around him – when it looks like he’s going to be snapped at again – Severus pulls almost all the way out and slams back in. Draco groans in answer, his nails digging into Severus’ flesh and leaving crescent shaped marks behind. Severus does it again, and again, and again. Readjusts his angle each time until the head of his cock slams against Draco’s prostate, the younger man crying out. He smiles, kisses him again as he sets a steady pace.

Draco meets every thrust, leans his body into Severus’. What he’d imagine it would feel like doesn’t compare, the feel of Severus inside him too much and not enough all at once. He wants to stay on this high forever, wants to never have to give up the blissful pressure.

Severus fucks him hard, his movements steady and confident. Draco can barely form words, just strings of broken moans that may or may not be Severus’ name. He thinks he might be drawing blood, his nails scratching down Severus’ shoulders and to his biceps, but he doesn’t care. Can’t think beyond the _full_ feeling of having Severus inside of him.

A hand wraps around his erection, calloused palm moving across the shaft in a rhythm that matches Severus’ thrusts. Draco moves a hand to Severus’ hair, uses it to pull him down into a kiss that’s mostly tongue and teeth. He’s breathing heavily, trying to cling on and make it last, but it’s too much, it’s so much, and Draco can feel the pressure building. Can feel the pit of his stomach tightening.

Severus scrapes his teeth across his jaw, nips at the lobe of Draco’s ear. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with arousal. “You can come.”

Draco shuts his eyes tightly, uses his last threads of self-control to hang on, but it’s a lost cause. His body is alight with arousal, even more responsive than its usual self. Severus squeezes his hand just _so_ , his cock buried deep inside Draco, and Draco can’t hold on. Can’t help but come. He moans, low and loud, Severus’ name on the tip of his tongue as strips of come cover both his stomach and Severus’ hand.

He clenches around Severus, drawing him in. One, two, three more thrusts, and Severus is following suit, pulling out last minute so his come lands on Draco’s arse, thick stripes falling over taught flesh, dripping between his cheeks and making Draco’s oversensitive body shiver.

“Fuck,” Draco whispers, breath heavy. He lets his body relax into the mattress, lets his muscles unclench. “That was…”

“Yeah,” Severus’ finishes, hands rubbing up and down Draco’s thighs, massaging the flesh lightly.

“I don’t think I can move,” Draco says, and Severus huffs a quiet laugh. He reaches down, brushes his lips against Draco’s gently.

“I suppose I’ll do everything, then,” he says, shifting off the bed with some difficulty. He stands, unashamed of his naked body, and walks from the room.

He returns moments later with a damp cloth in hand. He sits on the bed’s edge, wipes Draco clean with soft, efficient movements before turning the cloth on himself. The bed’s a mess, but Severus is exhausted and it’s on top of the covers, so he figures it can wait until after they sleep. He pulls the blanket down, helps Draco manoeuvre underneath it, and slides in next to him.

Draco rolls towards him immediately, their limbs intertwining. Severus lets him, wraps his arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer. He grabs his wand from the bedside table, murmurs the spell to make the room go dark, and then drops it again.  

They fall into a peaceful silence, their synchronised breathing the only sound.

“I lied,” Draco says after a while, voice soft. His mouth is pressed to Severus’ collarbone, his lips leaving a damp trail as he talks. “About why I’m here. I lied.”

“Hmm?” Severus glances down at him, squints to try and make out his features in the dark.

“I didn’t come back to England because I got bored,” he says. Like it’s a secret. “And I didn’t want the job for the opportunity. I saw your name in the paper and I just— I had to come and see you.”

Severus sighs quietly, murmurs, “Of all the things I expected from you, getting sappy after sex wasn’t one of them.” It’s said like a joke – and it is – but Severus’ arms also tighten around him, his lips falling to Draco’s forehand to land a gentle kiss.

Draco smiles, shoulders bouncing with quiet laughter. “I hate you,” he groans, pressing his face against Severus’ chest. But he sounds fond. Like he means the exact opposite.

Severus hums, his chest vibrating with it beneath Draco’s ear. Long fingers make their way to Draco’s hair, threading through blond locks and scratching at his scalp lightly. Draco shuts his eyes at the sensation, his body melting into the comfort of Severus’ bed.

When his breath evens and he’s almost asleep, he hears Severus murmur: “I’m glad you came.”

He doesn’t look up, but he thinks Severus can feel his smile. “Will you be happy if I stay?” he asks, voice barely more than a whisper.

Severus’ continues to pet his hair, head dipping to press another kiss to his forehead.

“More than you could ever imagine.”


End file.
